The Art of Keeping Faith

by Anna Bloom

  Meredith gives me an ‘are you for real look’ from the driver’s seat.

  It is freezing cold and we are scrunched up in Deathtrap Cooper for Meredith’s first driving lesson.

  How I got myself talked into this the Lord only knows.

  “Uh, start the car?”

  “Nope.”

  “Check my mirrors?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Lilah. I don’t bloody know,” Meredith exclaims with clear frustration.

  “You must always do your seatbelt up before you even start the engine,” I inform her with my many years of deeply skilled driving knowledge.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Okay.”

  She does up her seatbelt pronto. “Now what?”

  “Now I am going to talk you around the different levers and controls.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “This is a very serious task you are undertaking.” I use my most serious voice to match the gravity of the situation.

  “Lilah, it is a frigging car park. We are not even on the road.”

  “Same rules.”

  “Whatever,” she mumbles under her breath.

  “I heard that, young lady.”

  One Hour Later

  Oh, my God. I am my father. I am a Nazi of a driving instructor.

  Meredith may never talk to me again. I made her cry. Badly.

  She told me she never wanted to get in a car with me again, even to get a lift to campus.

  I told her she would be getting lifts for the rest of her life because she was the single worse driver I had ever come across.

  24th January

  Ben Sodding Hur

  I will never ever be able to get back the three hours I have wasted today watching Ben bloody Hur. I don’t care if it is a classic, I don’t even care if it won five million Oscars.

  It was three hours of uncomfortable backache and a very uncomfortable atmosphere.

  Meredith is still not talking to me. It’s been days but I have not been forgiven for calling her an appalling driver. I even offered to take her out after class yesterday but she just ignored me.

  I think Tristan is enjoying our little spat because that way he gets Meredith all to himself. Normally she splits her time equally between girly time in my room and the lounge with him, otherwise known as boring time. I have been very bored by myself all week.

  I wonder when she is going to forgive me.

  Beth will help, I am sure. I will see what she is up to.

  11.55 p.m.

  Beth won’t help at all. She will just convince me to go to Froebel, where we both throw our names away dancing in the middle of the bar before the DJ has even started.

  “I don’t know why you are asking me anyway?” she questions when we have paused from our gyrating so I can have a power smoke outside in the frigid night air.

  “Well, you row with Jayne.”

  “Yeah, because I fancy her and it is really annoying. You don’t fancy Meredith do you?”

  “Uh, yuck! No!”

  “Thank you, Delilah.”

  “Sorry, you know what I mean.”

  “You know I think what you and Ben do is equally gross.”

  For a moment I lose myself remembering just what it is that Ben and I do.

  Damnit! I miss that man!

  “Lilah? Lilah? Hellooo??”

  “Sorry, I got side-tracked.”

  “Yeah, I see that. Right. Are we going home so you can make up with your best friend or are we going to dance and drink some more?”

  “Drink more.”

  It was a silly question anyway.

  25th January

  “Two things.”

  Meredith has stropped into the shop and slammed her bag down on the counter waking both Baz and I up.

  Baz looks between the two of us and then mumbles something under his breath before walking into the back area.

  “Only two?” I say.

  It’s fair to say I am not very mature at confrontations; in fact a five-year-old is possibly more adult.

  “Actually three.”

  Figured.

  “Go on, then.” We are glaring at each other which I don’t think we have ever done in the year and a half we have been besties.

  “Firstly, you owe me an apology. I am not a terrible driver. I would have been much better if I was not out with a neurotic, crazy woman who shouted at me all the time.”

  I purse my lips.

  Oh what’s there to lose? “I am very sorry Meredith I was horrible to you. It’s a genetic flaw I am inflicted with and I promise not to do it again should you decide to have another lesson with me.”

  Her green eyes scan my face for any sign of sarcasm or humour. “Okay, forgiven, I reckon you are still a better option than Tristan.”

  “Well so long as I am better than Tristan that’s okay.”

  It’s impossible for me not to be sarcastic.

  Her eyes narrow in suspicion before she clearly decides to shake it off.

  I soon realise why. She has gossip and needs to share it. “Did you know that Beth and Jayne have snogged?”

  “Um, yeah, why? Who told you?”

  “Jayne. Who told you?”

  “Beth.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway,” she hesitates. Obviously there is something bigger than this to tell. “A removal van turned up this morning and the people upstairs have started moving out.”

  “I didn’t know there was anyone upstairs.”

  “Me neither,” she shrugs.

  I don’t think we will ever be welcomed into the Neighbourhood Watch with our crime fighting observational skills.

  “Anyone moving in?” I ask.

  “Nope. Not that I have seen.” She looks a bit sad at this and I am sure she has had a very fulfilling day curtain twitching.

  “Well, I guess we will find out soon.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Meredith is now loitering in an uncomfortable way, like she has something else to say but does not know how.

  “Meredith, was there something else?”

  “Kind of.” She bites her lip.

  “What?”

  For some inexplicable reason I start to feel a little nervous. No scrap that. I feel very nervous. “What is it?”

  “Listen, Lilah, I am sure it is nothing, but I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

  “What!?” My voice rises dramatically.

  Instead of answering she avoids all eye contact and pulls the Sun newspaper out of her bag.

  I instantly want to be sick. It must be bad if she has come all the way to the shop to talk to me for the first time in days.

  It’s bad. It’s beyond bad and then just a little bit further.

  Ben, who has clearly just come off stage, because he has that hot sexy glow he always gets, is smearing his hot sexy goodness all over Mihraandah. And I don’t mean in a just passing, accidental touching of one another, kind of way.

  No what I mean is that Ben is standing behind the skinny bitch with his arms wrapped tight around her skinny waist, whilst she is turned half toward him kissing him on the cheek with her skinny lips.

  I look at the picture and then I look at it some more. Then I read the print alongside the picture, which goes something along the lines of, ‘Sound Box’s Ben Chambers celebrating his new single success with possible girlfriend PR party girl Miranda Mason.’

  Then I throw up.

  Later

  I’m on my way home. I don’t think Baz wanted me to destroy any more of his carpet and I also think it was very clear there was little chance of me doing any work. Not unless work is defined by drinking and scaring off all prospective customers by shouting, “What the fuck do you want?” at them as they come through the door.

  I am halfway home when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

  Richard: Fancy coming out for some fun?

&nb
sp; Not really, I fancy jumping off Putney Bridge.

  Despite my New Year’s resolution not to be jealous, the sight of my boyfriend kissing another woman whilst all glowing and sexy sweaty is enough to make me just a little bit miffed.

  Richard: Come on … .

  Me: What did you have in mind?

  Richard: Football followed by binge-drinking, football team style …

  Me: Sounds right up my street.

  I am sure Ben will call soon and we can have a mature dignified discussion about the latest incriminating photo to find its way into a national paper. Until then, I may as well go out and have a little fun.

  I wonder who wants to join us?

  26th January

  12.00 p.m.

  Holy crap balls.

  What on earth happened?

  Then I see the Sun newspaper scrunched in the corner of my room and it all comes flooding back. Well, the bit about the picture does. Everything else is a bit vague.

  Oh, God. What on earth have I done this time?

  I’d better go and see if I can find out what went on.

  2.00 p.m.

  Of course, I had to find Tristan.

  Meredith was dying somewhere. Tristan was in full wind-up mode in the kitchen. To be fair, he did make me a cup of coffee, which I then threw up.

  It started with, “Who’s a naughty girl then?”

  It could only be bad, and yep, it was.

  According to Tristan the Arse, I decided to down three pints of cider in a row when we arrived at the football pitch. This was after I had spent half an hour convincing Tristan and Meredith to come out with me to, “Cheer me up.”

  I then decided I needed to warm up due to the freezing weather conditions and had four shots of whiskey. Meredith joined me on this, which explains why she is still in bed. Meredith cannot drink pints to save her life, especially of cider and especially when mixed with whiskey. Saying that, neither can I.

  I then proceeded to shout abuse at the other football team.

  After another two pints of cider I decided to start shouting abuse at our team when they all collapsed on the floor with cramp.

  By the time all the players came out of the changing room I was off my trolley.

  Thankfully Richard thought it was funny and greeted me with, “Blimey, Lilah. I told you to have fun, not go completely banana’s.”

  Tristan said I did not even say anything back. I just stood there grinning at him like an imbecile with one eye shut.

  Next we went to Froebel for more drinks and karaoke. Meredith and I sang, “Enough is Enough.”

  So kill me now.

  Finally we got a kebab on the way home, which I threw up as I got out of the cab.

  Sounds fun. Shame I can’t remember any of it.

  I am just turning to shuffle back to my room when Tristan calls me back. “Babe, Ben’s called about five times this morning. It’s a miracle you did not hear the phone considering you were passed out clutching it to your chest.”

  “Did you speak to him?”

  “Yeah I did. He is frantic, like seriously frantic. It’s up to you whether you call him and put him out of his misery.”

  I walk back into my room and stare at my phone.

  I just don’t think I know what to say to him right now. So I am going to do the chicken thing and text instead.

  Me: Ben, I will call you tomorrow. Sorry my head is just too sore right now for the convo we need to have.

  I am not sure what our conversation is going to involve, not exactly. But I think that it is probably going to be a long chat about whether we should actually continue on as we are.

  I mean yesterday I was pretty mad, to begin with anyway. But then I went out with my mates, had a laugh (read ‘got plastered’), and kind of forgot about it. My life did not end just because Ben was up close and personal with Mihraandah. Actually it just kind of carried on much like it has since October when he went away again.

  I don’t know what it means. What does it mean that I am kind of okay with pictures of him in the paper?

  What does it mean? When he was here at Christmas it was perfect. But I am beginning to realise that Christmas was just a break from the norm for us. Our normal right now involves separation, distance and photos. And the truth is, I just don’t know what to do with that.

  27th January

  7.00 p.m.

  I have walked in to the sound of the phone ringing.

  “I refuse to pick that up again,” shouts Tristan from the lounge.

  “Okay, I’ve got it,” I shout back as I slam into my room.

  It’s the moment I have been dreading all day.

  Three. Two. One.

  “Hey,”

  “Oh, thank God you have answered.” Yeah, Tristan is right, he sounds frantic.

  “I have answered,” I say.

  What an idiot.

  “Lilah, I’m so sorry. It is just so stupid. I can’t believe that this has happened again.”

  Well it’s kind of going to if you keep bloody touching her and hugging her.

  “Ben, it’s okay,” I sigh.

  Silence.

  “What do you mean, it’s okay?”

  “Well, I don’t really know what else to say.”

  It’s true I don’t have a clue what to say.

  “This is so shit. I hate the fact that I can’t even see you. Can we Skype?”

  Uh, I am not sure about that, I look rough. A two-day hangover will do that to a girl.

  “Um.”

  “Lilah, please,” he begs, and it makes my chest tighten in response.

  “Okay, I will call you back in two minutes.”

  I hang up and then dash at full speed to my make-up on the dresser and slap on some concealer and blusher.

  Then I call him back.

  I don’t think I needed to worry about looking shit, Ben looks terrible. Like the worst ever, unshaven, black shadows and hair all over the place. My chest tightens further when I register the state he is in.

  “Jesus, Ben. Are you okay?”

  “Uh, no not really, Lilah. Two days ago, some twat of an editor at a newspaper decided to print a picture of me hugging a woman, describing her as my girlfriend. The woman is someone who my actual girlfriend, the love of my life, passionately hates. My girlfriend has not spoken to me for two days after calling me a mother fucker during our last brief conversation.”

  “Did I? Sorry, I don’t remember that at all.” Well, I do have a vague recollection, but I was hoping it was just a bad dream.

  “Yeah, you did.”

  “Sorry. I think that was the cider and whisky talking.”

  “I have no idea why you are apologising to me when I should be apologising to you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Actually I was kind of expecting shouting,” he tells me, sounding confused.

  “Yeah, I guess you probably were. That is all you expect from me because that’s all I have ever done before.”

  This is true, I thought about it a lot yesterday as I ran through the options available to me for hours.

  “Lilah, you are completely freaking me out. Why are you being so calm?”

  “Ben,” I start but then my throat gets very tight. I give a little cough. “Ben, I guess this is just what I always expected. So it has not really come as a massive shock.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “That you would end up with a six foot skinny woman who is far better suited to you than me.”

  “Oh, my God, Lilah. I don’t want anyone else. It was a ridiculous photo printed completely out of context. That was not even the whole picture, it had been cropped. Dave was also in the photo standing to the left of Miranda trying to get his hand on her tit.”